


Take Root

by Chenan



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Moving Out, Neil gets a cat, Neil tries to live on, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Rivalry, but he's an idiot, he should know better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chenan/pseuds/Chenan
Summary: Neil had thought that Andrew would have signed with a closer team, like Atlanta, or even Chicago.But no.Of all the cities in the United States, Andrew had chosen arguably the farthest city: Seattle.And now he's alone.
Relationships: Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 24
Kudos: 96





	1. Fear

Andrew had graduated three short months before, with four offers from teams all over the country. He had taken his time deciding where to sign, but time is always running out. Nevertheless, he and Andrew spent the Summer in Columbia, alone for the first time.

Aaron had already gone off to medical school and Nicky back to Germany. 

As much as Neil had enjoyed the peace and freedom away from prying eyes and silent disdain, he knew the charade would only last so long. August brought decisions so long put off, and his return to the dorms.

Neil had thought that Andrew would have signed with a closer team, like Atlanta, or even Chicago.

But no.

Of all the cities in the United States, Andrew had chosen arguably the farthest city: Seattle.

After years of vowing never to return to the West coast, he had chosen to play for the Barracudas after all. Neil had felt heartbroken, betrayed, and most of all, _utterly alone_.

The August heat rolled in like a sucker punch to the throat; flowers wilted, birds hid, and the clouds provided no coverage from the beating sun. Nevertheless, Neil stood in the Court parking lot, punching the lock button on the Maserati. 

Andrew had made his decision, and it wasn’t him. 

He stomped over to the court, distractedly punching the passcode into the lock. The pad beeps, granting him access to the famed Foxhole Court. The orange, once an eyesore, brought comfort to Neil, knowing that no matter how much will change in the coming months, the Court will always be ugly as _shit._

He was only dropping off his exy equipment, but he could use some time to think about Andrew’s decision to move to the West- _fucking–_ Coast. He swung his gym bag over his shoulder. For the first time, he was utterly alone on the court. Kevin wasn’t making him run Raven drills, Nicky wasn’t screaming in excitement, and Andrew wasn’t silently threatening any of them for over-stepping. It was too quiet, and he felt incredibly alone.

He grabbed a bucket of balls from the equipment room and walked them to center court. The orange and white seats were empty, and he could hear the echo of his steps reverberate around the arched walls. He spilled the bucket, balls spreading around the center of the court. He gripped his stick tightly, feeling the coolness from the aluminum digging into his palm. He scooped up a ball and bounced it carefully on his net. 

He exploded from the start and sent the ball flying in the net. The ball made a loud crack against the backboard, penetrating the ridiculous silence in the stadium. He let himself fall into a familiar pattern of sending balls straight into the goal, his muscles taking over.

Even though Kevin was in Utah training for the coming season, he could almost hear his criticism, pushing him to be none other than perfect.

 _‘You’re letting your left elbow drop,”_ he’d say, _‘loosen it and give it power. That’s where your speed will come from.’_

Neil loosened his elbow and shot another ball, using his right arm to guide the shot into the top left pocket. The realization that he had sent his last ball, he fought the urge to snap the pole over his knee. His attempt to blow off steam only made him more aware of the loneliness that surrounds him.

He threw his racquet to the ground and scooped the bucket. Striding over to the mess of balls spread around the goal, he noticed Andrew sitting in one of the stadium seats. He had no clue how long he’d been there, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He stomped over to the door and up the stairs. He jogged two-thirds of the way up to Andrew and slowed to a stop. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Neil couldn’t contain his anger anymore, and it’s spilling out onto the floor.

Andrew’s face was carefully blank, and voice flat, “Neil, I just want to talk.”

Neil’s face was flushed from anger

Andrew let his mask crack, revealing sadness and anguish in his eyes. Neil couldn’t look him in the eye, so he turned to leave. “I want you to come with me.” Andrew said, loud enough for him to hear clearly, “To Seattle. Neil…” Andrew paused, standing to meet Neil halfway, bridging the growing gap between them, “I… um… love you.”

Neil spun around violently, “And if you _love_ me, then why the _fuck_ did you choose Seattle? Are you really going to live with that burden?”

“I chose this city because I had a choice, Neil,” Andrew growled, barely lower than a whisper, “Don’t pretend you care about my life then curse me out in the same breath.”

“I can’t follow you there, Andrew. It will kill me, leave me a shell of a man. All of that _progress_ , gone. My freedom? Gone.” Neil hunched his shoulders. Andrew was familiar with this stance; Neil was ready to bolt. 

And he was totally right. Without a second chance, Neil left, sprinting down the stairs.

Andrew chased after him, but he knew he couldn’t catch Neil when he’s on the run. He made it to the locker room before he came to terms that he got away.

Anger boiled in Andrew’s lungs, taking over his body like a rolling wave. He couldn’t take it anymore. His fist collided with the concrete, and he felt the blood drip down his knuckle. He didn’t feel pain, just a terrible numbness that froze his whole body. 

He couldn’t let Neil run from him – from _this_. And he knew exactly where he would be.

He knew in his heart that Neil was upset about something else, it couldn’t be the West Coast. He’d grown past that and started confronting his past. After four years together, he knew Neil better than he knew himself. 

* * *

The rocks on the roof crunched under his boots. He could see the bright orange Court in the distance, a sight he’s grown to love. It reminded him of Neil, the scared kid hiding from his past. A walking mirror in which he could show his flaws in confidence. He saw Neil sitting on the edge of the roof, feet kicking over the edge.

“Neil,” Andrew dug a cigarette out of the carton, “I chose Seattle so you– _we_ can live without fear. Confronting our past won’t take away your freedom. It’ll give you _wings_ so you can learn to live with what happened.” He flicked the lighter and brought the end of the cigarette to a cherry. He took a drag before passing it to Neil.

Neil took a long drag, his eyes closing, lungs filling with the sweet smoke. “Andrew, I can’t just forget what happened.”

“And I’m not asking you to.” Andrew dragged another cigarette from the pack. He through the carton over the edge of the roof, following its path until it bounced off the roof of a nearby car. “I’m asking you to build a life with me over the scars.” He reached out, taking Neil by the hand. Andrew turned his arm over, the pale scars that once were marked by scars, now covered in blossoming petals, branches curling around his toned arms.

‘ _Life takes root in the scars of the past.’_ Andrew thought to himself, but not saying it. He knew Neil understood.

Andrew sparked the end of the cigarette and took a drag, letting the smoke curl around in the air. “Now what’s really bothering that fucked up brain of yours?” Andrew asked, still holding Neil by the hand.

“I used to live my life alone, relying on myself. I think falling back on the team––the old team–– made me soft. I can’t handle being alone again.” Neil took a deep breath, taking in more smoke. His chest was tightening, strangling the life out of his chest. 

Andrew sighed, inching closer to Neil. “Being a part of a team doesn’t make you weak. They make you stronger when you’re weak. And your team needs a leader, Neil,” Andrew softens his tone, “ _they_ need you.”

Neil shuddered at the tenderness in Andrew’s voice. As his heart crumbles inside his ribs, he knew he loved Andrew. Even without saying it, Andrew knew. But Neil wasn’t an idiot, he knows that Andrew wants his life _healing_ on the West Coast, but Neil lives in the past. He lives in the past to survive, learn from mistakes. And he knows that Seattle is the biggest mistake he could make.

“Andrew,” Neal moved away, “I think you should play for Seattle.” Andrew couldn’t read his face; face scrunched in pain, but eyes free of regret. “But I won’t follow you.”

“Neil…” 

Neil slid around to stand behind Andrew. He can’t follow Andrew, he won’t. Instead, he dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his heel. 

He left Andrew on the roof of the dorms, wondering if he’d made a mistake.


	2. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year, and Neil has to move on.

It’s been a year since Neil had walked out on Andrew.

He started the season, but he couldn’t pull his shit together long enough to focus on the game. He made mistakes that Kevin drilled him to forget. The Foxes lost the second game of the final seven, a huge disappointment on Neil’s part. He wanted so badly to go out with a bang, but the Foxes’ in-fighting was too much for Neil to handle. He had his own bullshit, he couldn’t deal with the Freshmen.

Wymack tried to get a handle, but Neil made no attempt to wrangle his own demons, never mind someone else’s. As much as Wymack tried, Neil had shut down completely.

Nevertheless, Neil still had plenty of professional teams willing to sign him. He had two months to decide  _ where _ . He’d chosen, purely by chance. As long as he stayed away from the ocean, he’d be safe.

The day of graduation came while Neil didn’t notice the passing days. He’d finished the season rather disappointedly. He’d gone to the Spring formal alone, disappointedly. The stares from the Virginia Tech Exy team were too easy to read: a mix of confusion and pity. Neil was no fool, he knew that they wonder where he left his guard dog, and he refused to return their gaze. 

He missed the comforting strength that Andrew radiates. The missed the smell that gave him courage. He missed  _ Andrew _ .

Graduation was a party that Neil didn’t want to attend. The excitement from the crowd vibrated the air, shaking him to the core. His name was called and he accepted his degree. He’d decided to major in Mathematics because the numbers never lied. He was a liar, and he felt comforted that the numbers will never lie. Neil would always quell the growing thought of Andrew, but he could never ignore the pull in his chest.

_ God. _

The ceremony was long, and the sun was warm. The South Carolina mid-May sun has already too harsh, and he could feel his skin getting tight. He let the slow drone of names lull him into a trance, barely registering his own name:  _ Neil Josten. _

He felt his legs bring him across the stage. The crowd was deafening, all congratulating him on his ‘accomplishments’. He knew better, no one was there for him. He’d been alone, driving everyone away. 

He walked to his seat and dozed for the rest of the ceremony. Staring down at his arms, he could see the scars underneath the ink, a reminder that happiness is fleeting, but pain is forever. The ink wrapped around his arms, stretching over the backs of his hands and across his fingers. He could almost see the petals bloom and shrivel, cycling through like an endless routine. Budding, blooming, falling away.

The boom of the crowd pulled him away from his thoughts. It’s over. Neil stood with the rest of his class and threw his hat in the air. He wanted to leave, but he wasn’t ready to leave Palmetto behind. He slipped through the crowd, careful to not set anyone off. 

Rounding the corner out of the football stadium, he saw a cluster of reporters, waiting. As he drew near, they scrambled to ready their cameras. He’s made his decision long ago, but he didn’t say anything. Putting it into words mean it was true, and he’d have to live with it. 

“Josten, which team are you signing to next season?” one of the reporters said, voice cutting above the jostling voices.

Neil stopped. The only way to be left alone is to answer their question. “Chicago,” he said, mustering a half-smile. 

“Utah also wanted to sign you, what do you say to Kevin Day?”

Neil let his smile falter a little, “I wish Day luck and I look forward to seeing him on the court. No more comments.” Neil sprinted away, hoping to avoid more questions. The press was content with his answer, knowing they won’t get more from Neil.

As his graduation gown fluttered behind him, a degree in hand, future set, he let his legs take him across the parking lot to the other end of the campus. He went to the one place that he didn’t feel alienated: The Court.

The orange paint reflected the sunlight, even as the sun began setting behind the trees. He pushed through the gate and threw the door open. His footsteps echoed through the hall, and he sprinted down to the court. He was born in orange, lived in orange, he celebrated with orange. He let the smell of wood polish fill his lungs. He let the stadium hurt him, but he’d also let the court heal him. 

There was already a racquet and bucket of balls waiting for him at center court. He shrugged off his gown and picked bent over to drop it next to the bucket, taking the pole into his hands. His fingers wrapped around the cool metal and the weight of the net comforted his muscles. He fell into a trance of sending balls straight into the net.

He didn’t know how long he was sending balls into the net. He’d decided to run dills by himself, steeping around imaginary players, protecting the ball from no one in particular. He was on fire, and a burn inside his lungs told him to stop. 

He slowed down and cleaned up the balls from around the far end of the court. Once all of the balls were back in the bucket, he took them back to the equipment closet. He walked around the court one more time, before walking to Wymack’s office. 

Light glowed underneath his door, and he rapped the door twice before opening the door. Dan and Matt sat across Wymack’s desk in discolored chairs, with Wymack in his office chair. “Josten,” Wymack said, rather excitedly. Dan was already up and pulling Neil into a hug. Neil gladly wrapped his arms around her.

“Coach,” Neil said curtly. He shook Matt’s hand before taking a seat on the orange couch against the wall. 

“Neil,” Dan said happily, “I have great news.” Dan ran her hand through her short hair. “I’ve just signed the papers to become Palmetto’s first female coach.”

“That’s great!” Neil gave Dan a gleaming smile. He was genuinely happy for Dan, and Matt, but mostly Dan. Since graduation, Dan and Matt stayed local, playing for the Charlottesville Exy team, the Penguins.

“Hey man,” Matt said smiling, “congratulations on graduating. You made a decision yet?”

Neil swallowed, “Chicago.”

“Good to hear,” Wymack said quietly. “Did you talk to Minyard?”

Neil felt his throat constrict. The mention of his name sent him into a fog. “No.”

It had been nine months since Neil walked away from Andrew, and the pain was still fresh.

Andrew didn’t call Neil after, not once, since… the last time they spoke. Nicky had tried to stay in touch, but the time difference in Germany made it harder for him to adjust to the schedule. Neil understood why Nicky stopped, and he let him fall out of touch. All Nicky wanted to do was ask about Andrew, talk about Andrew,  _ worry _ about Andrew. He couldn’t. 

_ ‘Neil, Andrew is a mess’  _ Nicky had said  _ ‘he’s not adjusting to Seattle.’ _

_ ‘Nicky, I can’t.’ Neil said, cutting his off. _

_ ‘Okay,’ Nicky accepted his answer. ‘He misses you, Neil.’ _

And that was the end of it. Andrew is too proud, too set in his ways. He won’t call Neil because he thinks he’s right. And maybe he is, but he’s the one who had moved on. No one would choose the other side of the country if he had someone that kept him in the East.

“Hey, Neil,” Matt said, “Want to get a drink?”

“It’s alright, Matt. I have to get on the road to Chicago early in the morning.” Summer training will start in three days. He had put a down deposit on an apartment and bought a modest car. He was ready to leave, and move on.

He couldn’t deal with goodbyes, so he left the parking lot, his few belongings sitting in the passenger’s seat, still fitting in a duffle bag. His team welcome packet sitting on top. The schedule was set, and Seattle was at the top.

He wasn’t ready to face Andrew again, but at least the Exy regulations protected him from Andrew’s undeniable wrath.

A text from his new team lit up his phone:  _ See you soon!  _

Maybe he was ready for a new start. In Chicago. 


	3. Surviving

Neil arrived in Chicago on a Sunday morning. He’d taken his time driving. A twelve-hour drive taking his two days. He’d moved into his new apartment with ease. They had provided him a bed and a dresser. He’d gone out to get a television and a couch, but that took the majority of his afternoon. By the time he was finished moving in, it was only half-past four. He drove over to the Chicago Exy Stadium, where his new team was waiting. 

He pushed through the heavy doors, the sun pouring through the front windows. He has two months before the season officially starts. The training period is short, but he’s watched enough Exy highlights that he’s confident he could move around the court before anyone knows he’s _even there_. He’s serious about this season, unlike his last season at Palmetto. 

He pushed found his way to the meeting room, with thirty people piled into a room that should make him feel claustrophobic. A deafening cheer greeted him and several hands clapped his back as they folded him into the room. He made himself small, giving him valuable distances from the onslaught of his new team.

“Alright alright alright,” Neil heard from somewhere in the room, “Settle.” The roar died down and everyone found their places around the long table precariously fitted into the cramped room. “I know it’s a little crowded,” A man with graying hair spoke with a million-dollar smile, “So I’ll make this quick. I’m Hobbs, the head coach.” 

Neil slid his welcome packet from the end pocket of his bag. “Welcome!” Hobbs continued. “It’s a pleasure to add Neil Josten to this team. We’re incredibly pleased to have Josten, and I can express my confidence that this season will be good–yaddy yaddy yadda– alright.” Neil saw Hobbs slip an index card into his suit pocket. “Right, so Neil, I understand that you’ve had a long couple of days, congrats on your graduation. These fellows in suits?” Hobbs motioned to the four men sitting stiffly next to him, “are the owners of this team. Play nice. LaGuerta’s your captain, Molly is the publicist, and Mark is your doctor. You’ll have time after this meeting to know their faces and these assholes,” the people around him exploded in whoops and hollers, “are your team. Now say a few things about yourself and I’ll have LaGuerta show you around.”

Neil’s eyes widened in shock, unprepared to talk about himself. “Uh,” he said, struggling to think, “I know what you’ve heard about me in the media.” _This was a good place to start_ , “but–um– I love Exy and I’m ready to live up to your expectations.” The room filled with laughter, but Neil wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Yeah, Josten, nice one.” A woman to his left said, eyes sparkling. 

“Well like I promised, you all can go now,” Hobbs dismissed, and everyone bustled into the open space of the hallway. “Josten, you have those papers?” Neil slid his packet down the table and stood to leave.

Outside the room, a woman he only assumed to be LaGuerta stood waiting for him. He’d recognized her as the woman that sat to his left in the conference room. “LaGuerta?”

“In the flesh,” she confirmed. “Welcome to Chicago!”

“Uh, thanks.” Neil started walking behind the woman. She was short, but he could see the muscles in her legs flexing through her sweatpants as she walked. Neil was familiar with women he knew not to mess with, and LaGuerta definitely fits the type. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, making her cheekbones jut out sharply. 

“Try to keep up, and ask questions as you see them.” LaGuerta turned a corner and opened a heavy door that led into the stadium. The room held at least 30,000 spectators, and the chairs were a deep purple that glossed under the heavy lights. “This team is a very close-knit group of people. We will stand up for you in the press, and we expect the same from you. Which is good for you because from what I’ve heard of you in the press, you need it.” LaGuerta slowed her pace and sat in a seat. Neil dropped his bag by his feet and took the seat next to her. “You’re famous in the Exy world, even when you were in school. You’ve had a hard life, and now it’s time for you to slow down and enjoy the spoils of your own world.”

Neil felt at peace, in an unbelievable way, “Thanks,” and he really meant it.

“So you got anyone in your life?”

“Not anymore,” Neil answered honestly.

“That’s okay. I didn’t either. But this team really helped me come into my own. I found my voice and became the captain. You’ll find your way.”

“So,” LaGuerta stood, and Neil followed. “Thie stadium was built in 1987 in honor of Kaleigh Day…”

* * *

The tour was informational, and Neil was glad he’d chosen Chicago. He’d seem the court, the stadium, and they ended the tour with the locker room, where the rest of the team was waiting. He’d heard about the close-knit group, but he didn’t expect one locker room for the 25 of them.

They had lined up and introduced themselves, but Neil only retained a few names and faces. He’d recognized most of their names from Exy highlights, but their faces (often obscured by helmets), melted together.

“We’re getting together tonight for drinks, you want to join?” a man –Gilmore– wagged his eyebrows at him, “get to know your new team?”

“I can’t,” Neil searched for an excuse, “I have to feed my cat.” _Terrible_ lie.

“Okay then,” LaGuerta put a hand on his shoulder, “let the man go home to his cat.” Neil grimaced as he fit his gym bag into a locker. “We will start tomorrow at eight in the morning, get here by seven-thirty for set up.”

By the time Neil excused himself to go home, the sun had already set and the cool night air swirled around on his skin, raising goosebumps over on his arms.

On the way back to his apartment, he stopped by the humane society, half expecting it to be closed at nine o’clock on a Sunday night. The dim lights gave him hope, and he opened the door with a gentle push.

“Hey man, we’re closed,” called a voice from the back room. A man emerged from the doorway and stopped in his tracks, “no way! Neil _Josten_?”

Neil faked a smile and held his arms out, “In the flesh.”

“No way, man! I’m a huge fan!” The man continued, “I was stoked to hear you signed with Chicago, man. I’m Lucas, don’t forget me, my guy!” Neil couldn’t help but smile.

“Can you help me adopt a cat?” Neil asked hopefully.

“Yeah, dude, what’cha lookin’ for?” Lucas pulled a sheet of paper out from under the desk.

“Um, your oldest, lowest maintenance cat.”

“You sure about that?” Lucas asked seriously, “because we’ve had this cat for three years man, bites like a _motherfucker_. No one wants to go near that cat.”

“Sure,” Neil said, shortly.

“Alright, follow me.” Neil followed Lucas into the back room, careful to leave enough room to turn and bolt if things got sour. They walked past dogs and cats, large and small, until they stop at a cage holding a matted cat in the back corner. The cat hissed and pawed at the two men. “He takes a bite out of anyone who tries to brush the mats out of his fur.”

Neil’s heart panged for the poor little creature, “I’ll take him.”

“This is Professor Peanutbutter, an eight-year-old Ragdoll who has been brought back three times in the past four years. He’s had his heart broken, man, you can’t give up on him.”

“Great.” Neil helps Lucas corral the matted cat into a carry case, leaving both men with various scratches. Neil signs the paper and tries to pay for the adoption fee.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lucas had said, “Call it a gift from a fan. ‘Sides, you’ll be doing us a favor.” He pointed at the case, “that little bugger is a fighter.”

So Neil left with his cat and extra food to tide him over until he could go grocery shopping. He made it home and set Professor free into his apartment. The cat hissed at him and disappeared into the dark corners of the living room, leaving Neil to go to bed. He shut the door behind him and slid into his bed, allowing sleep to take over his body.

* * *

He had gone to practice every day for three months, getting to know his teammates and their skills. He could definitely work with their individual talents, but they left a lot of space in their defensive skills. Neil easily slipped through their formation and scored every time. His favorite team activity was piling into the conference room to go over Exy clips on the monitor, taking not of their competitions’ flaws.

He’d been invited many times to go out with his new team, but always finding excuses to bail last minute, mostly involving his cat. To be honest, his cat was very low maintenance. The damn thing would never come out of hiding, and clawing at his legs whenever he stepped too close to his hiding place. 

_‘Hey man you coming out?’_ They’d ask.

 _‘No, I have to give my cat a…bath.’_ he’d lie.

 _‘Man, what’s even your cat’s name?’_

_‘Um... Cat.’_ Which wasn’t a lie, he’d genuinely call his cat _Cat_.

He knew he couldn’t keep this up, they know he’s trying to get out of team bonding, but he didn’t care. He felt safe with his new team, but he wasn’t ready to open himself up. Open up about Andr– _him_. 

It is September, anyways. It was time he started focusing on Exy, and less on the personal details of his team. The first game is later that day, to be broadcasted live across North America and most of the world. This is his first game as a rookie, and he needs to perform well. They were playing Boston, a team notorious for a strong fanbase, and this was his chance to show Exy fans–and the mafia– that he means business.

He got to the stadium at around eight in the morning, eight hours before Faceoffs. He sat on the locker room bench, already in his base layer, tattoos peeking out of his long-sleeved shirt, wrapping carefully around his fingers. They will spend four hours talking about strategy over a meal carefully planned out by the team doctor, then a two-hour warm-up, followed by a press pregame meeting. Then it was time.

The game snuck up on him after the day sped by. He snapped out of his trance as the heard the game whistle cut through the air. He is a starting player as a rookie, an accomplishment noted by the press. He sped to action, stealing the ball in the air from a player twice his size. 

For what he lacks in size, he gains in speed. 

Neil slipped past the right mid, sprinting down the right side of the court, the ball cradled against the plexiglass. There’s no way anyone can catch his rhythm when the ball is nestled between him and the cage.

He’s well into Boston’s side of the court when he starts to branch away from the wall, making an imaginary J-shape on the court.

He cradles the ball and notices Boston’s shortcomings immediately. He’s seen it in the clips, but in real life, he finds it repulsive. Meyers and Figg always left a gap in their defensive. They moved in sync with each other, but they lose track of their steps too easily and drift apart after their ninth step. On paper, they have a flawless defense, but they obviously need practice.

Five

Six

Seven

He’s almost on them, so he slows his pace, only a little.

Eight

Nine

_Now_

He slips between Meyers and Figg, the butt end of a racquet grazed his shoulder blade, but he’s in. He speeds his pace and he enters the circle. The goalie starts to move in towards him, cutting off his angle to the net, the ball balanced lightly on his racquet. 

He adjusts his shoulder, getting ready to take the brunt of the goalie’s aggression, loosening it to drop his shoulder and use it as a cushion. He collides with the goalie, turning his body to brush lightly by man, he makes his spin and shoots the ball in the same breath.

The ball rolls off his racquet and sails through the air, colliding perfectly with the back of the goal.

A buzzer sounds and Chicago fans explode into hollers, rattling the glass. The goalie brought his pole down into the ground, making a sickening crack in the cage. Neil turned and his team hit their gloves on his helmet, congratulating him. He’d scored in the first two minutes of the game, boosting their confidence. 

Both teams set up again, Boston starting with the ball. Neil stole it easily and passed it to Woodward, who exploded down the court, and sent it to LaGuerta, who had scored in the bottom left pocket. 

He let his team play their game, and he cut in to score once Boston started piling on the ball, leaving Neil open. 

The end of the game came quickly, the final score being 9-1 in Chicago’s favor.

Once again, the team invites him out, but he refuses. He has his cat to take care of, anyways. He didn’t want to talk about the game with his team, and he skipped out on Press coverage.

Instead, he went home and ignored his cat (and Cat ignored him). He dropped his keys on the counter and made a protein shake. He had left his phone in his apartment, not wanting to be distracted by the hum of the internet. He was pleased when Reneé texted her congratulations from Texas. He misses her and Allison, but they were both very busy.

And not talking to Neil.

He texted back a simple _thanks :-)_ and ignored her response. 

His phone flashed, _‘It’s been over a year, Neil’_

She was busy, she didn’t want to talk to Neil.

He padded over to the living room and turned the channel to ESPNX to watch highlights from tonight’s game; Chicago vs Boston and Utah vs Nevada. He shot a text to Kevin, telling him to watch his roaming elbow, to which Kevin replied with a simple _‘eat a vegetable’_ and that was that.

He leaned his head against the back of the couch and felt a sharp pain on the top of his head. The cat wasn’t too pleased with the intrusion of his space, so Neil moved to the floor, stretching out his sore limbs.

It was fine.

He was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of the supportive comments! I only got three, but I see you! 
> 
> Currently, I have the story broken up into 11 chapters, so there are more opportunities for (heartbreak/loneliness/angst/stupidity)


	4. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chicago vs Seattle: the Birth of a Rivalry

Since his first win against Boston, Neil was in the spotlight. He was on track to be Rookie of the year, but his team was distant. He couldn’t help but notice that they stopped inviting him out on Saturdays. It’s not that he didn’t want to go, but he liked having the option to decline their invitation. It made him feel less alone.

He’d fallen into a routine of getting up, dancing around the Cat, going to Exy, and coming home. Soon enough, the games became a part of his routine, barely noticing the glory of the win, and the sting of a loss. This became his season: wins and losses, without no one to celebrate. He’d avoided watching the Seattle games, an unnecessary heartache that is easily avoided. 

Molly had caught up with him a few times, pushing him to get a Twitter account. He was reluctant, but he did. He’d followed all Exy accounts, but he barely opened the app. It was fine. He had constant travel and games to keep him occupied.

It was already late October, and Neil knew his game against Seattle is later that week. He spent his days watching Exy clips, focusing on the techniques of the defensive, and the aggression of the offense. He knew how to score about Andr– _him_ –, he’d done it before, but the sight of his frame guarded by goalie padding made his heart skip a beat. An undeniable truth than Neil was afraid of _him_ and he was afraid to show it. 

It had been over a year since he’d spoken to _him_ , and two months since he’d even thought of him. 

Neil got up at five in the morning, unable to sleep any longer. He laced up his running shoes and stepped out for a light jog. Nobody was on the street, so he stepped out and started around the block. The tightness in his chest didn’t let up by the time he had it back to his apartment building, so he set out again. He ran down the block, towards a beautiful park he’d seen on his jogs before. The sun was just starting to rise as he entered the part. He ran along the banks of the Chicago River, enjoying the first beams of light dancing along the surface.

He was at peace. He checked his watch, and he was torn from the moment. He turned on his heel and ran to the street, deciding to take a taxi to the stadium. As the buildings zipped back, he controlled his breathing. The tightness in his chest releasing with each contained breath.

Maybe he was ready to play, but he was not ready to face Andrew. He burst through the door at 7:55. LaGuerta spotted him and gave him a pleased smile. “Josten!” 

“LaGuerta,” Neil nodded, stopping in front of his locker. 

“You know, Neil,” LaGuerta said softly, “We don’t want to force you into coming out with us, but we will eventually. We’ve known you for how long? We’ve played together for how many games? We will get to know you.”

Neil couldn’t answer. He pulled his tee-shirt off, ignoring the slight gasp from LaGuerta. He didn’t give her more time to stare at his scars. He knows how ugly they are. He slid his base layer on and threw the soiled shirt into the bottom of his locker.

“A-are you going to answer?” LaGuerta begged.

“Okay,” Neil said defeatedly, “tonight after the game, I’ll go out with you guys.” LaGuerta let out an excited scream. “But,” Neil interrupted, “I’m not drinking.”

“That’s fine!” LaGuerta faced the rest of the team, “Yo! I got Neil to come out with us!”

“What? No cat excuses?” Hahn joked.

“Ha-ha,” Neil laughed dryly.

He needed to focus on this game if he wanted to win. The technical meeting went as planned. Neil didn’t learn anything he already knew, but he sat in obedience anyways. He picked at his pre-game meal, the knot in his stomach tightening as he ate.

He was focused on his warm-up, stretching out any kinks in his legs.

But the pre-game press. 

He stood in line with his team, answering the questions each report posed with extreme professionalism. Then Seattle strode in, taking their seats across from Chicago. Neil searched the crowd absently until his eyes landed on _him_.

His hair was longer, but still the same color, long strands covering his eyes in discontent. He had dark circles over his cheekbones, but it was the same Andrew from a year ago. 

But has face portrayed an expression Neil had only seen once. In Baltimore. So many years ago. As fast as he noticed it, it shifted, to a look of neutrality. 

“This is a question for Neil Josten,” a young report took him out of his trance, “I see you and an old teammate have reunited from opposite sides of the court, how does it feel playing against an old friend?”

Andrew leaned into his microphone, “We. Are. Not. Friends.”

“This question is for Andrew Minyard,” another reporter interrupted, “Do you care to explain what happened at Palmetto State to warrant such a response?”

“Thank you!” LaGuerta interrupted, “it seems we are out of time, any more questions will be answered after the game.” The two teams stood and walked out, getting ready for the game.

“Neil,” LaGuerta pulled him aside, “I thought the Foxes were close.”

“We were,” Neil started fitting his pads over his body.

“When why do I get the feeling that Minyard will gut you when he gets the chance?”

“He probably will,” Neil wished he was kidding. 

“Look,” LaGuerta made him stop with a hand on his shoulder, “Do you remember when I said we will protect you when the time came? Well, this is the time, but I need to understand why Minyard hates you so much.”

“Look, what happened between us is fine,” Neil let his locker slam as he stomped out of the locker room. He fell in line with his team with his helmet in his hand and walked out on to the court. The roar of the crowd drowned out his own thoughts until the door sealed, muting the cheers. His team yelled back and forth, calling out positions, and he took his place on center court.

The woman he was up against was shorter than her, and he knew better than to underestimate her speed. She looked nervous during the face-off, so she was unfamiliar with this aspect of the game. No doubt a detail Andrew added during their technique meeting. The whistle blew and the ball fell through the air.

The woman jumped to meet the ball and cradled it, leaving Neil to chase after her. 

He followed her, knowing that he would be able to steal the ball mid-step when her shoulders rounded to take another step. As he reached out to steal, he passed the ball to a player running the opposite direction, who passed it to another player down the court. They were in the critical zone, but Neil wouldn’t catch up in time to keep the player from scoring. He hoped his team would steal and pass it to Seattle’s side of the court.

The buzzer notified Neil that Seattle had scored first. They set up for the next play, with the ball saddled in Neil’s racquet. He took three steps forward before a player crashed into Neil. He dropped his shoulder, but the ball went bouncing to another player running behind Neil. The white of his uniform disappearing to the opposite side of the court.

He knew they were intentionally keeping the ball away from Neil’s side of the court, a dangerous mistake on their part. On Neil’s side of the court, the players lacked the coordination and communication that the other half has. If he were to get the ball, he could easily snake around the players and get a chance to score on Minyard. The buzzer sounded again, Seattle had scored again.

Neil called a time out and shared his information with LaGuerta. She had agreed that Neil was to start with the ball and pass to Miller.

They took their places once more and Neil prepared himself. The whistle blew and he immediately passed the ball down court to Miller. The players on his side moved to the ball but left the opening. Miller passed to LaGuerta, who sent it immediately over the Neil. The ball shot over the other teams’ racquets and into Neil’s net. He was free and exploded down the court. Entering the circle on light feet. He heard Seattle yelling to get on him, but he was too far. Minyard looked bored as he stepped out to meet Neil, but knew better. 

He sent the ball sailing dangerously close to Andrew’s helmet, and it bounced off the top and into the goal. The buzzer went off and his team cheered. Neil smiled behind his mask, proud of his shot. He turned and went to celebrate with his team when he felt the sting of a ball collide with his heel. He turned to see Minyard make a slicing motion across his throat.

He’s dead.

It went on like this for the rest of the game, Chicago fighting tooth and nail to end up on top.

The final score was 6-7, Chicago’s favor. Neil was both elated and afraid for his life. 

He tried to sneak out after the game, but Molly caught up with him and told him that it was his turn for the Post-game press. Neil sighed and went back into the press room, his hair a mess. There was a certain electricity that Neil knew was _not good_. He arrived at the table, and sat in the vacant seat next to… Minyard. Andrew looked at him casually and gave him a dangerous smile.

“What happened at Palmetto to warrant this bad blood?”

Neil did not want to answer, but Minyard beat him to it, “Well you see, Neil was never a team player. He would rather run than face an opponent.”

Neil’s chest tightened, Minyard’s words cutting through him like knives.

“It seems that Josten can, in fact, play in a team. Out of the seven goals scored, he only picked one,” another report reminded him, “What makes you believe he can’t play as a team?”

Neil looked at his team, faces hard. “I, uh, play to the strengths that my teammates have an–”

Andrew cut him off with a jab to the ribs, “Neil may think he knows how to play with a team, he may think he knows better, that he can play in the moment, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know better and he can’t play for the future. That’s all, I’m done.” Andrew stood and left the press conference, leaving Neil to chase after him.

“Andrew, wait,” Neil pushed back his chair and followed him out. “Andrew.”

He spun around sharply, causing Neil to almost run into him, “What,” he practically spat.

“What the fuck was that?” Neil’s anger boiled over.

“Oh I’m sorry I said it how it was, that I don’t speak in riddles like you,” Andrew growled, “I’m sorry I told the truth instead of running, Neil.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Neil stepped closer to Andrew, feeling his heat swirl around his body, his scent filling his lungs. He no longer smelt like cigarettes, and bite he didn’t know he missed.

“Then what did you mean?” Andrew waited for an answer, but Neil couldn’t find the right words. “That’s what I thought.” 

Neil wanted to scream. And worst of all, he didn’t not the audience of reporters and his teammates had gathered to monitor the potential showdown between two former teammates. 

“C’mon, Neil, let’s go out.” LaGuerta gathered him into her arms and shielding him from the bustle of sports reporters getting their first real break.

Getting out into the open air released some tension in his chest, the chance to run away from this situation, and move to Guam where he couldn’t be found. He can’t fight the urge to run.

“LaGuerta, I can’t go out.”

“It’s alright, I get it,” LaGuerta gave him a tentative hug, unsure if it would be accepted. 

It wasn’t.

Neil shrugged out and hailed a taxi to go back to his apartment. He needs to get out.


	5. Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chicago @ Utah with a few (un)friendly faces

Neil woke to this phone blowing up on the floor next to his bed. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and rolled over to reach for it on the ground. Taking the cold metal into his hand, he saw that most of the messages are notifications from Twitter, tagging his account in articles. Neil groaned and opened a message from Molly, requesting a meeting over breakfast.

 _‘It’s mandatory’_ she wrote.

Neil groaned and kicked the sheets from his legs. Pushing himself off the bed, he pulled on fresh clothes and laced up his running shoes. He texted Molly confirming the meeting, and it wasn’t long before she sent directions to a little breakfast nook on the Westside. He stepped out on the street, traffic already bustling in the early morning. He hit the unlock button on his keys unnecessarily hard. He slid into the driver’s seat before bringing the engine to life.

There was nothing extraordinary about his care; four wheels and a mirror. It helped him blend into the mundane flow of traffic. Before long, he pulled into a small parking lot of a mostly-empty diner on the Westside. Slamming the door behind him, he took short steps through the door. He spotted Molly immediately and took a seat across from him.

“Neil!” She said brightly, “Congrats on the win last night.”

“Thanks,” Neil flipped his mug, asking for the waitress to bring him coffee. 

A graying woman saw this and went over to fill his mug, “Know what you want?” She asked, bored.

“Two eggs, over easy, with a side of bacon,” Neil said, not looking at his menu.

The waitress looked at Molly expectedly. She glanced over the menu again before ordering a Belgian waffle with banana. The waitress left and Neil almost wished she had stayed to protect him from the coming questions.

“I want to talk about the stories about you and Minyard,” Molly wasted no time when it came to business. “I don’t know if you read them but we need to respond accordingly to the allegations made in the press.”

He hasn’t read them. Neil’s heart thumped. He knew the stories wouldn’t be flattering, but he was left confused. _What allegations?_

“Did you take a look at the articles?” Molly asked. Neil shook his head, he really had not. He pulled his phone out and unlocked it with relative ease. He kept this news apps, but he only kept the sports magazines. He opened the app and was immediately greeted with pictures of him at the game. 

The first story he selected had the title ‘Former Foxes Fixated on Feud’.He knew it wasn’t flattering.

_‘Former Fox fans held their breath last night as two of their star players faced off in Chicago last night. With Chicago coming out on top, players Josten and Minyard shocked spectators with a hostile environment.’_

Neil was there, he didn’t need to read more. He looked up at Molly “Keep reading,” she said, tapping away on her phone.

Neil skipped around the article, before landing on a particularly distressing paragraph

_‘During the post-game interview, the animosity came out in a very public way. Minyard made allegations that Neil couldn’t play on a team. What will that say about Josten’s fit on the closest team in North America? Perhaps Josten will be moving on from Chicago in the coming years.’_

Molly looked up from her phone, “so,” she interrupted his reading. “He’s right, this team is very well put together, and the time they spend together is the glue. So for you, you have to spend more time with your teammates.” She dropped another packet of sugar into her coffee.

“What will that do?”

“Well the press will see that you and the team are friendly, and Minyard would look like a fool.” Their conversation was interrupted by the waitress placing their plate of food in front of them. “But now you have to tell me what happened on the Foxes.”

Neil searched for the words. “We were close, after everything that happened my freshman year,” Neil started, “and Andrew was my… best friend. He wanted me to go to Seattle with him, but I still had my fifth year at Palmetto. I just,” Neil paused, “fell out of touch with the rest of the team after we parted ways.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Molly accepted his answer. After breakfast, Molly charged their ticket to the team account and dropped a few bills for the waitress. Neil went straight to the stadium from breakfast, carefully turning down Molly’s offer to carpool. He had his car in the parking lot anyways. Besides, he reveled in the quiet drive to the stadium. He knows Molly is right, he needs to make an attempt to get closer to his new team. He pulled up and spotted LaGuerta slamming the door of her sedan. He quickly got out and rushed over to fall in step with the woman. “Hey!”

“Neil, what a treat!” She said genuinely.

“Are you guys going out tonight?” Neil asked hopefully.

“After every game, no matter the state!” She said, pushing the stadium doors open.

“Do you mind if I join you guys?” 

“Sure! We’ll go to O’Malley’s in Utah Friday night,” they arrived at the locker room, which was already partially filled with various team members. “I won’t tell the team if you change your mind, so if you change your mind, it’ll be alright.”

Neil was thankful, and he got ready for the day’s practice.

* * *

The week went by per usual. He didn’t stress that week’s game, as he was playing against Utah. He was prepared to face Kevin on the court and had done his research. He’d gathered detailed notes on Utah’s team, but he had no doubts Kevin and Thea were doing the same. Not only did Neil learn of Kevin’s skills, but other possible drills he may have picked up over the past few years on the professional teams.

On Thursday night, they all boarded a charter jet going to Salt Lake City. The journey took three hours, so Neil used that time to go over the most important drills in his head. It took no time to land, and he was in a car going to a hotel before he could comprehend what had been going on. 

His room was plain but felt like home. The sheets were tick and pillows plump. He laid his head down, not bothering to take off his shoes. 

He woke up with a start, his phone ringing. He checked the time, 7:00 flashing across the top. He rolled off the bed and stretched his arms above his head, popping the joints in his back. He pulled on his baselayer and gatherers his equipment from beside the door. He’d gown down to the lobby to wait for the shuttle to bring him to the Stadium.

“Kevin Day, can you comment on the rivalry between Minyard and Josten?” 

Kevin tensed. “If anyone has actual questions about Exy and the game tonight, I would gladly answer them.”

Neil sighed in relief and waited patiently for the end of the press conference. He saw Kevin scrape his chair back and stalk out of the room. Neil needs to talk to him.

“Hey,” Neil said, falling into step with him, doubling his pace to keep up with his long strides. “Thanks for not saying anything.”

“It’s. Not. My. Job.” Kevin growled, “This is your problem, don’t drag me into your fucked up love life.”

“That’s not fair!” Neil stopped walking. Kevin noticed that Neil was no longer with him and spun around violently.

“That’s not fair?” Kevin mocked him, “stop crying of a broken heart and _fix it_.”

Neil’s ears burned in anger, “I can’t stop loving him and he wouldn’t even look at me!”

Kevin stepped closer, his voice flat, “You weren’t there when Andrew was breaking. He may not have a heart, but you shattered it. Find a way to fix it and stop coming to me for _goddamned relationship advice_.” Kevin took a step back, his face uncharacteristically soft. “He came to Utah every week for six months. He could never forget you. He just learned to live without you.” Kevin was gone before Neil could respond.

 _‘He just learned to live without you,’_ echoed through his mind as he made his way back to the locker room. He gathered up his equipment from his locker and stalked out to the court.

The stadium was alight with blue and gold, the cheering crowd shaking the stadium. The door close and he could hear both teams yelling formations. He took his spot on the court and prepared himself across from Kevin. He was looking at Neil with distaste, and he tried to not take that personally.

The official blew his whistle and threw the ball, and his team exploded into action. Neil swept the ball a fraction of a second before Kevin did and rounded around him. He felt his racquet swat at his shoulder, but he kept the ball. He passed to LaGuerta and she passed the ball back to Neil after a few steps. He heard Kevin’s footsteps approaching him, so he wound up to pass back to LaGuerta. Kevin stuck his racquet out and cradled the ball from the air. He turned on his heel and chased Kevin down the court, closing in.

He entered the circle with Neil hot on his trail. Neil saw Kevin’s left elbow travel and Neil knew when to strike. As soon as Kevin tensed to score, Neil reached around, poles colliding together. Kevin dropped the ball and Neil immediately scooped the ball from the floor. 

Neil cradled the ball and passed to his teammate on the other side of the court. His teammate scored and the stadium erupted in boos. Neil turned, not wanting to face Kevin and clapped his pole on the ground, and went to set back up.

Kevin started with the ball, eyes alight in anger. The referee blew his whistle and Kevin started down the center court in a technique that Neil remembered from midnight Raven drills. Neil tried to fall in step with Kevin, but he zigged when Neil zagged, dodging around the players like a dance. It was impossible to predict where Kevin will end up. Before long, Kevin shot the ball and the buzzer cut through the air like a knife through tense butter.

This was going to be a long game.

* * *

They’d lost the game, 2-3, with the scored tied until Utah scored in the last two minutes. Thankfully, he skipped out on the press conference, not wanting to face Kevin again. He went back to the hotel and showered, reveling the feeling of hot water on his body.

He was dressed when there was a knock on the door. It swung open and LaGuerta was standing on the other side. “Hey Josten, you still coming out?” LaGuerta asked hopefully. Neil nodded his head and LaGuerta pumped her fist in the air, letting out a holler. 

They took a cab to a lowkey bar ten minutes from the hotel. The bar was surprisingly empty for a Friday night, to which Neil silently thanked the powers above. They found a booth in the corner, where the benches wrapped around into a horseshoe shape. Somehow, he managed to find himself in the corner, directly in the middle. A prime location for someone trapped in a single location, but he could see everything going on in the bar. 

The seat was sticky, and the table was littered with assorted nut shells from the bar mix. “Ginger ale,” Neil ordered when the matron took orders.

“You don’t drink?” LaGuerta asked from across the table.

“Not anymore,” Neil answered, letting his team take that as it is.

“Is that why you always refuse to come out with us?” Miller asked from beside him.

Neil didn’t answer.

“Josten,” LaGuerta said, voice sounding over the low hum of conversation, “you ever been in love?”

“Once,” Neil answered honestly, “if you can call it that.”

“What happened?” LaGuerta asked, interest piqued.

Neil fiddled with his keyring, “He wanted me to move to Seattle.”

“Isn’t that your problem with Miny–OH!” 

“God, Paul,” Miller hit the back of his head lightly. “You’re such an idiot.”

The rest of the night dragged on, Neil sandwiched in the corner of the booth. The team had their inside jokes and he tried to follow along with the seemingly random word coming out in strings. As one person started saying something, the rest of the team joined in; he didn’t get it.

 _‘Memes,’_ one of them explained, _‘from Twitter.’_ Neil had Twitter, then why didn’t he understand?

The night started winding down, more teammates leaving as the night went on. Being stuck on the inside of the booth, Neil feared asking everyone to move for him. Finally, it was just him and Miller left at the corner booth. “You wanna dip?” Miller had finally said.

“Sure,” Neil immediately wanting to leave. It was two in the morning when they finally got out on the street. Miller called a cab and they climbed into the back seat. The drive was pleasantly quiet, and the hotel came into view before long. Miller paid the cabbie and Neil slid out onto the sidewalk. They walked into the hotel lobby as a small figure emerged from the sitting area next to the door. 

“Josten,” Andrew gruffed. Neil’s heart dropped.

“Woah Woah Woah, we don’t want any trouble here,” Miller said, coming between the two of them, finally sobering up.

“This doesn’t concern you, Maggot,” Andrew dismissed Miller with a flick of the wrist.

“Andrew,” Neil said, still in shock, “what are you doing here? How’d you know?”

“Thea and Day ran into LaGuerta leaving O’Malley’s, and he got to talking, obviously,” Andrew said like Neil was stupid. Maybe he was.

“Andrew, I–” Neil started saying.

Andrew cut him off, “no, Neil, I get to talk.”

Miller was tapping away on his phone obliviously, “Fine. Outside?” Neil turned around and stalked back outside. The air bit at his bare arms, raising goosebumps on his arms. “What is it?”

Andrew bit his lip, searching for words, “Neil,” the way he said his name sent shivers up his spine, “did you figure out why you didn’t want to come to Seattle with me?”

Neil was blindsided, “I–um– I don’t know.”

Andrew rolled his eyes, “this was a mistake, Neil, have a nice life.” He turned, his boots stomping away.

 _‘Fuck_ ,’ Neil thought to himself. He noticed half of his team hiding poorly on the other side of the tinted glass of the hotel. 

“Neil,” LaGuerta said, face breaking, “I see the way you look at him, you know exactly why.”

“This can’t be fixed, LaGuerta, I’ll never forgive him for what he did.” His words were harsh, but they were true… to some extent. He didn’t care, he couldn’t face anyone, so he walked away from the hotel, leaving his team behind.

He was cold, but he kept walking. Utah was flat, and not as busy as Chicago, so he reveled in the feeling that he was alone. He noticed a figure in the night, sitting on the curb, and he was prepared to run in the other direction. 

“Neil,” Andrew acknowledged him. Neil sighed and dropped to the curb beside him, leaving a space between them.

“Andrew.” The two of them sat in silence for a while. It was nice. Even though Andrew couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore, Neil felt his heat radiating from a foot away. Neil pulled his arms closer to his body. He felt a jacket drape his shoulders, Andrew’s scent filled his nose. It was missing the bite of stale cigarettes, but it was _Andrew_ all the same. 

“When you asked me to move to Seattle with you, I still had a whole year left.”

Andrew was silent.

“Palmetto was my home, probably the only place that made me feel like I belonged.”

Andrew slipped his phone from his back pocket and unlocked it with ease, still ignoring him.

“I was afraid that you would leave me. After everything. That if you were able to get over being on the West Coast that you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“That’s stupid, and you know it.”

“But it’s the truth. Everyone was leaving and moving on. I was the captain of a team that I didn’t recognize anymore. I didn’t have anyone left at Palmetto, a place I called home. And I thought it would be easier if I pushed everyone away before they could leave me.” Andrew was attentive now, staring at the ground. If Neil knew better, he’d think Andrew was fighting back tears. “And I knew I was wrong, Andrew. I shouldn’t have pushed you away because I miss you every day.”

“Neil…” 

Neil pressed his fingers into the teeth of his keys, “And when Kevin said that you learned to live without me, that maybe I was right.”

“You are the stupidest motherfucker I’ve ever met, Josten,” Andrew said, finally standing up. “You left me, and I _had_ to move on without you. To the team where I could create a new life for _us_ so that we can learn how to _live on_ from all of the _bullshit_ we had to deal with when we had _no reason to_ deal with.” Andrew pronounced with pointed fingers in his chest. “Maybe it was stupid of me to hope that putting all of that behind us will make us stronger.”

 _‘Like tattoos over a mess of scars.’_ Neil thought to himself, finally understanding.

“I loved you, Neil,” Andrew got scary quiet, “you were the only human being on this sad planet that was more fucked up than me. And you made me feel safe. I wouldn’t throw that away because you’re too insecure.”

Neil didn’t say anything. It was hard hearing Andrew admit that he loved him, at some point in his life. Even if he never put it in words, Neil loved him too.

  
“I _still_ love you.”


	6. Mend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil finally takes the first steps on his journey of healing, and the Foxes support him in the press.

Andrew walked Neil back to the hotel, the words each of them said still echoing through their heads. Neil’s teammates had cleared out from the lobby, probably off to bed to catch their flight in the morning. The clock on the wall struck 5, creating a sound that rang through the lobby. They were the only ones in the lobby, the chime pulling them from their thoughts.

“Hey, Andrew?” Neil asked tentatively, “Are we… good?”

“I don’t know, Neil. It took a long time to get off Kevin’s couch.”

“So… Eventually?” Neil had hope spark in his chest.

“Eventually,” Andrew confirmed. “I have a flight back to Seattle in a few hours. I’ll text you.”

And like that, Andrew was out the door. Neil couldn’t help feeling hopeful as he walked up to his room, forgoing sleep. Instead, he watched Exy highlights for the two hours before he was due at the airport for his return trip to Chicago. 

Six am rolled up as he finished watching his most recent game. His phone vibrated to life with a call from Reneé. He ignored it, and it started buzzing again immediately after, also from Reneé. He sighed as he slid his phone unlocked.

“Hi Reneé,” Neil faked happiness.

_‘Neil! Thank God you answered! I just got off the phone with Andrew. I knew you wanted space, but I didn’t know it was because you were afraid, Neil! I’m so sorry I shouldn’t–’_

Neil cut her off with a small cough, “Reneé, it’s okay. I should be the one apologizing, I shouldn’t have cut you out of my life.”

_‘Neil, you were the one in pain, and I should have been there for you.’_

“It’s okay, really. You were busy.”

_‘I could never be too busy for you.’_

“Okay, Reneé, I have to go,” Neil paused, “It was nice talking to you. Give my love to Allison.”

_‘Anytime, Love, don’t be a stranger.’_ Reneé ended the call, and Neil felt okay for the first time in a long time.

He packed all of his stuff and slung his one bag over his shoulder. Grabbing his keys off the bedside table, and slid them into his jacket pocket, and walked out the door. As he was letting it swing close, LaGuerta emerged from her room, “Oh good, Neil! About last night, Miller texted that you needed back up and I didn’t want to meddle but–”

“LaGuerta, slow down. I know you were just looking out for me.”

“That’s not the only thing,” LaGuerta’s worried look made Neil’s body tense up in fear, “the team was seen at the bar by a sports report and he may have listened in on a conversation or two…”

Neil’s face dropped, “Look LaGuerta, I’m sorry about what I said last night, it was rude, and I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

“It’s okay, Neil, but you should really read the news.”

Down at the hotel lobby, Neil pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it with a swipe. He tapped his news app and was immediately greeted with an old photo of him and Andrew dressed in orange. Even though it was so long ago, he remembered the moment the photo was taken. It was on Allison’s phone and it hung on the wall at the Foxhole Court. He clicked the article and pulled up the page:

_A relationship turned sour, driving Josten from his team._

_Josten’s past is something in murder mystery novels; from kidnapping to suicide of a rival. Everything a team needs to stay together like a fly on glue. So, what happened to the Palmetto Foxes? Where are they now?_

_The answer is: who cares!_

_The real question is what happened between Josten and Minyard to come to this level of animosity between the two equally messed-up players on the foxes._

_Of course, through some real-life, sleuthing, I have found out that there is nothing that will tie Josten to a team, no matter how tight-knit they are._

_Not even Love will keep Josten true to anyone._

_Out of fear of the two parties involved, I will not disclose who the secret lover. But I will tell you that Neil will never commit, regardless of the history._

_Will we hear of a transfer coming in Josten’s future?_

Neil fought the urge to through his phone. LaGuerta gave him a look of pity, “A lot of the Foxes went online to stand behind you, but we wanted to run this by you before we tweeted our wrath…”

“That’s fine, LaGuerta, do whatever you want.” Neil boarded the shuttle to the airport where their plane was waiting. Once he was boarded, he slid his phone unlocked and pulled up the long-forgotten Twitter app.

@ESPNX: @NJos10 speculated to transfer teams after this season

@AMinyard: Josten’s an idiot and wasn’t taught valuable people skills

@AaMinyard: @AMinyard neither did you

@AMinyard: @AaMinyard shut up, Mr. “Personality of the Year”

[View 27 more Tweets]

@AaMinyard: I’m not Andrew

@AllisonReynolds: Even though Josten has no sense of color coordination, that’s fine but that’s his only flaw

@DanWilds: Josten will step up to protect the Foxes from the Mafia, and you doubt his commitment to Chicago?

@DanWilds: @EXPNX And Neil never said anything about transferring, so who are your sources?

@AMinyard: @NJos10 couldn’t express his feelings even if they were written on his palm

@AMinyard: @NJos10 emotionally constipated moron who took over a year to say what he really meant

@KevDayExy: Josten is good at Exy

@DanWilds: @KevDayExy very intelligent response, Day

@KevDayExy: @DanWilds thanks

@NickytheDickyDestroyer: @KevDayExy @DanWilds @ESPNX Kevin Day’s operating system doesn’t support sarcasm CONFIRMED

@NickytheDickyDestroyer: I miss Josten, my little cinnamon roll

@NJos10: I’m not transferring from Chicago

@ESPNX: @NJos10 Confirmed to be a bad teammate, will Chicago pass on his contract?

@BecLaguerta: Unconfirmed

@ChicagoSparrowsEXY: @ESPNX @NJos10 will stay in Chicago

@A_Miller: @ESPNX suck on it, assholes

Neil sighed and tapped a message to Andrew. His finger paused over his screen. _‘I’m not transferring’_.

_‘I know.’_

_‘I’m stuck in a three-year contract with Seattle.’_

_‘Terrible motherfuckers around here’_

Neil chuckled under his breath, typical Andrew.

“Yo, Josten!” Miller called from across the cabin, “what happened after you ran away last night?”

“Well, um…” Neil started saying

LaGuerta looked up from her magazine, “Miller, don’t pry. It’s obviously private, man.”

“No, it’s alright, LaGuerta,” Neil said. “After I left the hotel, I went for a walk around Salt Lake. I caught up to Andrew. He was visiting Day, so he wasn’t too far away. You know, we sat and talked.”

“You guys make it all good?” Hahn chimed in from the back.

“No. It’s fine, though, I didn’t expect friendship after…everything,” Neil trailed off, turning back to his phone.

“So, you’re still in danger of being gutted by Minyard?” Miller asked, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

“That is still a very real possibility,” Neil answered honestly. Despite the fact that he honestly hoped that Andrew would forgive him, he knew he’d done too much damage to their relationship.

The plane landed, cutting him off from his conversation. He gathered all of his stuff from the jet and fit himself into his sedan to drive himself back to his apartment, giving a quick wave to his teammates on his way by.

During his journey, his thoughts flitted over to Kevin, and how Andrew used Kevin as a support system after he left. He had come to the realization that Andrew was just as fucked up like him, but they began dealing with their issues in two ways. Andrew will always choose to fight, but Neil can never shake the instinct to flee.

Perhaps Andrew was right that if he learned to live with his past, and all the messed-up things that had happened to him, he would live out his life paying off the mafia and eventually retiring. But some scars are too deep, and no amount of ink can hide the trauma he bears on his shoulders.

Neil pulled into his driveway in front of his apartment. Swinging his duffle bag on his shoulder, he slid out from the driver’s seat and strode to his front door. He twisted his key in the locked and pushed it open. He heard a hiss sounding in the shadows with soft pattering on the hardwood floors. He dropped his bag next to the door and stepped inside, letting the door swing behind him. Toeing off his boots, he pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped away at the screen.

_‘Just landed in Chicago’_ , he typed. Neil saw a note on his kitchen counter and snapped the kitchen light on to read it.

_Neil,_

_Please find another person to feed your cat. He is a menace._

_I will be sending you my hospital bill._

_–Mike from Next Door’_

Neil wondered the extent of Michael’s injuries that would send him to the hospital, but then again, Cat is quite the scratcher. He walked over to his bedroom and shed his jacket, letting it drop to the floor by the door. He saw Cat sitting on his bed and made brief eye contact with him. He threw his phone on the bed, changing his sweatpants for pajamas. Cat was nonchalantly swatting the phone but promptly skittered away when the phone buzzed. _‘Stupid Cat,’_ Neil thought to himself.

Enveloping himself in the blankets, he reached for his phone, and a buzz went down his spine as he read Andrew’s name. _‘Did I ask?’_ he had responded.

Neil laughed to himself, _‘I supposed not.’_

Neil typed out another message, _‘Chicago is wondering if you will gut me the next time we play.’_

Andrew’s response was almost immediate, _‘Keeps you on your toes, asshole.’_

_‘Good night, Andrew.’_ Neil’s eyes were heavy, his sleepless night and a long day of traveling finally catching up with him. He let the edges of his mind fade away, sleep gnawing at his body.

_‘Night, Neil.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cat is my favorite character in this story. There's not much to say about him because he's quite the recluse.
> 
> Also, a big thanks to FoxsoulCourt for the love they bring in the comments!


	7. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil has a guest

Over the past month, Neil fell back into his routine of going to practice and playing games. The only exception is going out with his team and texting Andrew. He had apologized to Mike from next door, after his ill-fated run-in with his cat. His face was torn up, a few stitches on his cheek. _‘You’re lucky this won’t scar, shithead,’_ he had said, _‘you’re luckier that I won’t be pressing charges.’_

True to his word, he had slid his medical bill under his door, and Neil paid it immediately. He had felt bad that his neighbor was disfigured, but it was his own fault that he had tried to pet Cat.

For the most part, however, he kept a low profile, not wanting to attract more attention in the press. Nevertheless, Chicago had won the semi-final match against Utah, effectively kicking Kevin out of the championship bracket.

A lot of Exy fans were disappointed, to say the least, as they had good money on Utah winning the National Title. Neil was just thankful that Kevin didn’t cuss him out before the game this time, instead, he shook his hand and congratulated him on making it this far.

It was two days after that did he learn their contender for the final match; Seattle.

Seattle had an undeniably great season, only losing twice the entire season, against Chicago and Utah. Neil had a feeling that Andrew was toying with the former Foxes by allowing a few balls through.

Neil stood at his kitchen counter, drinking his cup of coffee. He didn’t have a table or chairs in his apartment, aside from his lone couch in the other room. He finished the rest of his coffee and dropped it into the sink next to him.

The November air had a biting chill when Neil stepped out of his apartment. He enjoyed his twenty minutes of silence in his car on the way to the stadium. It was the final practice before the championship game, and he was prepared to teach his teammates about the weak points in Seattle’s defenses.

He strode into the stadium and made a beeline for the conference room, where his team had already been waiting for him. He took his seat at the table as LaGuerta started their meeting.

“Right,” she started, “so tomorrow is our championship game against Seattle.” LaGuerta paused to allow the team to cheer loudly. “So with that being said, we’ll have an extra strat meeting to solidify tomorrow’s win! Neil? Take it away.”

Neil stood, taking a moment to take in his team’s faces. “Right, uh, So Seattle has a lot of drills that seem foolproof and complicated, but they're actually quite simple. Their strikers are too eager on the ball and are too focused on scoring than protecting the ball. That means their defense leaves a lot of room for error. It’s obvious that they rely on the strikers and mids to keep the ball on the other side of their court. Long passes will work for a while before they start intercepting early.” Neil checked to make sure his team still followed along, and they were. “So, since the strikers clump on the ball, a lot of us are open for short passes. If we confuse them for long enough, we will be able to make it out into the open and stand a triangle straight down the center, protecting the side.”

Looks of confusion filtered through the room. “Yeah, Neil, do you want to try explaining that again?” LaGuerta asked, also confused.

Neil turned and drew three dots on the whiteboard, like corners of a triangle. “The player at the front of the formation will keep the ball. The two players will flank the ball, keeping the strikers from stealing the ball from the sides. Once we get to the critical zone, it’ll just leave our striker and Minyard.” Neil took a deep breath. “Minyard is unpredictable, methodical, and devious. Odds are, he’s already calculated _your_ next move before you’ve had time to think ahead. So, you have to fake him out and go over his head.”

“Okay,” LaGuerta said, signaling Neil to sit back down, “Thank you, Neil, for your research.”

“Man, did you do all of that last night?” Miller asked quietly in his ear.

Neil split his attention between him and LaGuerta, “No, I played with that asshole for four years, I got him to start giving a shit about the game.”

“So, you taught him how to be a goalie?”

“God, no. You can’t teach Andrew anything he already knows,” Neil smiled at his own joke, “no, I just gave him a shove in the right direction.”

“Okay, buddy.” And that was the end of that.

After the meeting, he and his team went out on the court and ran various drills that will hopefully help them during the next game. Neil even opened up the possibility of teaching Chicago Raven drills, to get them more accustomed to Seattle’s former Raven players.

Even after all of this time, Ravens still held a grudge against former Foxes.

Neil didn’t make it home until ten o’clock that night. He strode up to the door and put his key in, but his door was already unlocked. His heart quickened, ready to bolt, but his mind told him to investigate. He clutched his Exy racquet as he pushed the door open quietly. As he made it up the stairs, he noticed a light on in the living room, the television set to a low murmur. He rounded the corner to see Andrew sitting in the middle of the couch with Cat sitting in his lap.

Neil was floored, as Andrew stroked Cat’s back, and Cat made no attempt to eat his eyeballs. “Took you long enough,” Andrew said, not taking his eyes off the television.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Neil said, setting his racquet against the wall, “Cat’s known to go for the kill.”

“Makes two of us, I suppose.”

Neil dropped to the couch next to Andrew, “I’d ask to sit, but it’s my house.” Cat pawed at Neil’s arm, raising small red scratches over his dark ink. Neil moved his arm away from Cat, protecting his limbs from further damage. “I thought your team lands tomorrow.”

“My team, yes, but I came a day early, stupid.”

“Okay.”

“I signed to Chicago today. They wanted me a day early to sign the papers. The news will break tomorrow after the game.”

“I thought you had another year with Seattle.”

“I do, but management finds my attitude ‘complicated’.”

“So they fired you?”

“Exactly,” Cat stood on Andrew’s lap, stretching briefly before jumping back to the ground, “no fuss from me. Those guys can burn in hell for all I care.”

Neil couldn’t help but smile, “That bad, huh?”

“Terrible wouldn’t even begin to describe the bullshit they pull.” Neil noticed that Andrew had been watching ESPNX, where the reporter had been speculating on the nature of his and Andrew’s relationship.

“These morons have half a story but insist on extrapolating beyond the data,” Neil said, looking at Andrew. He had been staring at Neil, face screwed up into an emotion that he could not place.

“It’s quite the familiar story if you ask me, _‘two former friends, inseparable, have a falling out and face each other on the court,_ ’ makes you wonder if we’re the new Riko and Kevin.” Neil flinched at the mention of Riko Moriyama, grudging up old memories.

“We’ll have a different ending, though, won’t we?”

“Maybe, Neil.”

“Yeah,” Neil popped his knuckles anxiously, “Do you want anything? Food? Drink?”

“I put some ice cream in your freezer.” Neil got up and grabbed the two pints from his freezer. Andrew had gotten him Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream, his favorite, which shocked Neil that Andrew would remember such a mundane detail about Neil’s life.

Then again, it was Andrew he was thinking about. Neil grasped two spoons from the drawer and walked back into the living room, handing Andrew his ice cream as he walked past. “Your cat’s bored, that’s why he acts out.”

“Is that how you got him to sit in your lap?”

“I threw a shoelace around so he could chase it. Once he got tried out, he climbed into my lap.”

Neil smiled, digging into his ice cream. The cold from the outside mirroring the cold from the pint of ice cream. “Reminds me of someone.”

“Sure,” Andrew dismissed him, “What’s his name?”

“The cat?” Neil asked in surprise, “uhhh, Cat.”

“That’s a stupid name,” Andrew shoveled more chocolate ice cream into his mouth and letting it melt, “My cats are Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins.”

Neil snorted into his ice cream, “Those are stupid names,” Andrew’s fist collided with Neil’s arm, but not enough to hurt, “I adopted Cat and his name was Professor Peanutbutter, but he’s not even brown.”

Andrew turned his focus back to his ice cream. “Sir, King, and Professor. I detect a difference in status.”

Neil felt a brain freeze building above his mouth. He lifted himself from the couch and walked back to the kitchen to return his half-eaten tub of ice cream to the freezer. Neil climbed back onto the couch, feet resting beneath him. His limbs were heavy with sleep, eyes drooping. “Why’d you come here?” Neil asked, already knowing the answer.

Andrew contemplated his question for a moment. “I tried to get you out of my head. But I’ve memorized you. Your hair, your hands, your ridiculous urge to run. I _know_ you.”

Neil finally understood the expression written on his face: longing. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Andrew breathed.

Neil placed his head on Andrew’s shoulder, resting gently on the crook of his neck. He felt Andrew press his nose into his hair as let sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cat, always bored.
> 
> Angst is fun and all, but this is a Hurt/Comfort story, not a Hurt/Hurt story.
> 
> but I am a fiend for pain


	8. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i'm mia for two days and update at 2 in the morning?

Neil awoke the next morning on the couch. He’d remembered eating ice cream with Andrew and falling asleep on his shoulder like a teen romance movie, that was all clear. But he’d distinctly remembered not having a blanket.

Regardless, he awoke wrapped in a thick blanket that used to be on his bed. He rolled off the couch and felt Cat swat at his ankles. Stepping away, he stretched his hands above his head, popping his back. He took a lap around his apartment, knowing that Andrew had left long ago, but hoping anyway. He noticed an empty pint container in the trash, chuckling at Andrew’s absurd sugar intake.

He went back to the living room and gathered the comforter from the ground, Cat hissing at his sudden displacement. He walked over to his bedroom and dropped the blanket on his bed in a ball. Sighing, he switched yesterday’s clothes for a fresh set of base layers for the game later that day. He brushed his teeth in the bathroom and ran a hand through his hair, red curls bouncing to life.

Neil didn’t know why he cared so much about his appearance. On a regular day, he wouldn’t give his reflection a second look, but today? It’s not special.

Neil glanced at his phone on the kitchen counter, contemplating bringing it to the game. He slid it into his pocket anyway, in case Andrew texts him. He gathered his equipment from around his apartment and tied his sneakers tightly, before slipping out the door. He noticed a sleek black SUV waiting across the street, sitting inconspicuously among a line of cars. He walked out the door across the street up to the car and pulled the door open. The cab was empty, but Neil knew better. He stuffed his duffle bag and racquet in the trunk from where he was sitting on the backbench. The driver stepped on the gas and pulled away with no rush.

Down the block, the car pulled into an empty parking lot. The SUV idled for a moment before the driver killed the engine. He got out as another two occupants got in on either side of him. Sliding into the middle seat, the doors shut, cutting him off from the outside. “Wesninski,” one of them said, in a peculiar American accent.

Neil clenched his fists, “It’s Josten now.”

“Always a flair for the dramatic,” the other said.

Neil held the power button on his phone, watching the screen die, “Let’s make this quick, I have twenty minutes to get to the stadium.”

“Our driver will take care of that for you,” The man on his right said.

“As you may know, a lot of money is riding on today’s game, thanks to the rivalry between you and the short one.”

“…And?” Neil tried getting the men to get to the point faster.

“The Moriyamas have a chance at a nice payday if your team was to win today.”

“What if Seattle wins?”

The man to his right sighed deeply, “Let’s put it this way, if you win, you get five years shaved off of your contract with us. You’d be out early; you can play purely to get your rocks off for the last five years of your contract. That leaves you indebted to us for fourteen years.”

“But if you lose, you get ten years added to your contract, and after you retire, you will still owe us money for the next twenty-nine years,” the man to his left finished for him.

“Must be a lot of money,” Neil said, letting the information set in, “and if this is so important, then why didn’t Ichirou come himself?”

“We know the feds are in bed with you, he’s on to you.” Both of the men got out of the car and the driver slid back into the seat and brought the engine to life.

“Hey,” Neil addressed the driver, “can you take me back to my apartment?”

“I am under strict orders to take you to the stadium,” the driver responded in choppy English. Neil sighed and slid his phone out of his pocket. He held the power button, waiting for his phone to turn on. When it finally ran properly, he typed out a message to Andrew: _Moriyamas give their regards._

Andrew’s response was immediate, _‘Tell them to suck a fat one.’_ Neil couldn’t help but laugh.

On his way to the stadium, he noticed the city already alive with the buzz of the impending championship game.

Pulling into the stadium parking lot, he saw Exy fans were already lined up at the front doors. The driver pulled around to the back, giving him privacy from the hoard. Neil wasted no time dragging his duffle bag and pole from the trunk and pushing the door open. Before the door even closed, the driver was speeding away across the lot. He slipped in the back door, reveling in the silence that will be missed in the next eight hours.

The time was already half-past eight, meaning LaGuerta will be on his ass all day. He dropped his bag in the locker room and slipped into the conference room. LaGuerta gave him the look he expected but carried on her pre-game strat meeting. Neil sheepishly served himself some breakfast, listening to LaGuerta explain last-minute strategies for later.

“Neil,” LaGuerta had said when all of their teammates shuffled out of the room for warmups, “I need to talk to you. About Minyard.” Neil knew exactly where this was going. “He’s signing to this team after today’s game. We’re making it public after the game today, but management didn’t want to blindside you in front of the press.”

“LaGuerta, thank you for telling me, but I already know,” Neil said, watching her face flick from anxiety to shock.

“I only just found out before the meeting.”

“I’ve known since last night,” Neil pulled his helmet over his head and sprinted through the doors of the court, preparing for warm-ups.

He knew LaGuerta didn’t want him to tell a soul about Andrew’s transfer, so he focused on stretching his muscles and getting his blood pumping first. He ran simplified drills with his team until the doors at the top of the stadium opened to let the first of the spectators trickle in. Chicago brought it in and left the court as one.

The press conference was boring. He sat at the table, going through customary questions about their preparedness for the game. It was incredibly dull, but Neil held on. He’d seen Andrew file in with Seattle, giving him a small salute with a finger. Neil’s mouth quirked at the corners before giving him a glare that could freeze hellfire.

He was bored. He couldn’t help it.

Andrew brought a finger up to his throat and made a slash, a murder threat directed at him. The press noticed immediately, and a flurry of questions was sparked at Neil.

_“Josten, will the outcome of the game determine the nature of your unfriendly relationship with Minyard?”_

_“Josten, do you feel threatened by Minyard on the court?”_

_“Minyard, what are your expectations for Josten’s behavior?”_

_“Josten, how will you deal with Minyard’s threats of bodily harm?”_

Neil felt a smile form but pushed the corners of his mouth down. “As long as Minyard promises to keep things civil between us, we won’t have any murders.” He saw LaGuerta lay her head in her hand.

“Hey, a-hole,” Andrew keeping his comments PG for the press, “I’m being perfectly _fucking_ civil.” Never mind.

“That’s rich, Minyard, considering that you are the messiest man I know.”

“Oh, so do you really want to open that can of worms? It’s not like you don’t keep a closet full of stupid sentimental shit,” Andrew shot back. The press was alive, cameras flashing and reporters scribbling on their notepads.

“At least I have fond memories and not probable murder victims in my closet.” Andrew forced back a smile.

“Okay!” LaGuerta’s voice broke the wave of more questions, “any more questions can be answered after the game, thank you.”

Neil got up from his chair and followed his team out of the room. He could practically see the headlines now: _‘Minyard Confirmed a Murderer.’_ It’s not a far stretch. He felt a hand reach for his shoulder and pull him down an empty hallway. He was relieved to see Andrew pin him against the wall.

His heart rate quickened being so close to Andrew, feeling his hot breath on his face. Andrew flicked his knife out, “Alibi,” he said quietly, “if you want to keep this charade going. I know a quaint life is boring for you.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Neil said, letting a lopsided smile take over his face.

Andrew dragged the tip of his knife across Neil’s chest. Neil trusted Andrew, so he knew he wasn’t in any real danger. “What did the Moriyamas want?”

“They want Chicago to win because they have a hand in the betting pool.”

“That’s silly,” Andrew sneered, “Ichirou told me the same thing last night.”

Neil let out a hardy laugh, “did he offer a discount on your sentence as well?”

“No, but a nice payday,” Andrew purred, “enough to buy a house in Chicago.”

Neil smiled broadly, “It doesn’t matter which side wins because they’re on both sides.”

“Which brings us to the real question; live our sentence in comfort or have a little taste of freedom while we are still alive.”

“I supposed we’ll let the best team win.”

They both heard approaching footsteps. “I want my money, Josten,” Andrew said, a little louder.

“You’ll get it in good time, Jesus Minyard, is that how you treat an old friend?” Neil pushed Andrew off with a small shove.

“Fuck!” LaGuerta squeaked, “Neil, Minyard, quit that! Jesus Christ! If this is going to work, you guys need to start getting along.” Neil sighed in relief. Of all the people in the stadium, he was glad it was LaGuerta.

“LaGuerta, don’t worry,” Neil straightened out his shirt, “he doesn’t have the guts to kill me.”

“Hey, maybe one day, I’ll show you _your_ guts and we’ll see who still has guts,”

“Say guts one more time, Minyard,” Neil prodded at Andrew. Silence fell between the three of them. Andrew and Neil erupted into laughter, scaring LaGuerta a little. “We’re having fun, LaGuerta, I’m sorry, we were just having fun.”

“Yeah, okay,” LaGuerta rolled her eyes. “On the court, both of you!”

By the time Neil made it on the court, he was the last one to take his place in the center of the court. The official gave him a minute to adjust his equipment and tap his racquet on the floor. He stole a quick look at Andrew across the court, looking bored, but prepared to win. Neil gave the official a small nod before the door closed and the ball dropped.

Neil was quick to grab the ball from the air, faster than the woman standing his opposite. He smiled to himself and danced around her, passing long to Miller on the other side of the court. He sprinted down the corridor on the left, as Miller pulled the defensive players to his side. Miller passed back to Neil and he entered the critical zone. The Seattle defenders were gaining on him as Andrew met him in front of the goal. He faked a shot but passed to Hahn, who had snuck in behind Neil. Hahn went for the shot and the buzzer sounded loudly.

“Cheap trick, Josten,” Andrew said. Neil turned and congratulated Hahn on his incredible shot. He felt the bite of a ball colliding with his heel. He turned to see Andrew looking bored. Chuckling, he set up for the next play, preparing to immediately steal the ball when the official blew his whistle.

Like a bullet from a gun, the woman with the ball sped wide to the edge of the court. Neil stayed back and let Paul block her path, but the woman had already passed to a Seattle player further down the court. He entered the critical zone and took a shot.

Neil braced himself for the buzzer to sound, but it didn’t. He turned to see the Seattle player laying sprawled on the ground, and Paul passing short to Hahn.

The Seattle strikers crowded on the ball, leaving Neil open. Hahn passed to Neil down the court, and two of his teammates fell into line with him. They had four Seattle defensemen guarding their every move. The two players at his flank drifted away and Neil passed the ball to the right.

They continued their keep away passes all the way down to the lower circle. Neil held the ball in his racquet and brought Andrew off his angle. Neil shot above Andrew’s head, his stick meeting the ball just before it shot in. Andrew had a fire in his eye when he shot it back. Paul grabbed it midair and passed it back to Neil.

Neil coiled up to shoot again but dropped the ball into LaGuerta’s waiting net. He finished his shot and took amusement at Andrew’s confused face, which was cut short by the sound of the buzzer, signifying that LaGuerta’s shot had landed.

Neil high-fived LaGuerta, sticking it to Andrew before sprinting back to the center of the court.

Things were about to get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read chicken soup for the soul to get ideas on how to write about happy people


	9. Hope

Neil shot the final goal mere moments before the final buzzer. His team threw their equipment everywhere, converging on the center of the court, helmets strewn haphazardly around a huddle of cheering Chicago players.

The final score is 6-4, favoring Chicago, thanks to Neil’s last-minute shot. The doors on the court finally opened, letting in a roar of the crowd’s cheers, rattling Neil’s eardrums. He broke away from the huddle and made his way to Andrew.

Neil stuck out his hand, “Good game, Minyard.”

Andrew knocked Neil’s hand out of the air, “I don’t think that last point was necessary, you were already up.”

Neil felt a sinister smile stretch across his face, “I couldn’t help it, you were off your angle.” He turned around and collected his varied equipment, then made his way off the court.

LaGuerta was waiting for him as he stepped out of the shower. He’d become more comfortable showering in locker rooms since covering his scars. His back was covered in a sprawling tree, roots reaching down his back and around his arms. Neil took comfort in the fact that people will stare at him for the ink, and not for the gross disfigurement done onto him by his father. “Press duty,” she finally said.

Neil groaned internally, but he dried his hair with a towel and pulled on extra clothes that he reserved for the press conference. Shoving his stuff in his locker, he slammed the door and followed his team out into the press room. Since the game was high profile, his team were all expected to be seated next to grim-looking Seattle players.

LaGuerta stood, “Thank you all for coming. We’d like to thank Seattle for coming out to play against us, we wish them luck next season,” she let the press take photos of her, “We’d also like to wish Gilbert luck on the next phase of his life, as this is his last game with us. Happy retirement, Gilly.” LaGuerta smiled, but tension pulled at her lips. “We’d also like to welcome Andrew Minyard to Chicago–”

The press and Neil’s teammates erupted in appalled arguments. The press was taking pictures of both Andrew and Neil, remembering the arguments they’ve had in the pre-game press conference.

_“Will your rivalry come in the way of Chicago’s chances at next year’s Championship?”_

_“Does this mean Josten is transferring?”_

_“How can management be this blind?”_

“Minyard and Josten are both very talented players, I doubt they’d let some bad blood come between our team,” LaGuerta finally slumped down in her seat.

Neil’s phone buzzed in his pocket, lighting up through his pants. He slid it out of his pocket and unlocked it under the table. It was a text from a blocked number:

_Well done. 9 years._

His phone buzzed again in his hand:

_And tell Minyard not to throw any more games_

Neil didn’t understand why Andrew would let just enough goals in to put Chicago on top. Aside from the magic trip he and LaGuerta pulled, Andrew should have blocked all of the other shots. He looked down the line at Andrew. He was bored with the situation, but Neil was too tired to say anything.

Neil found after the press storm died down enough for him to slip out the back. He saw Andrew leaning against the wall behind the stadium, listening to music through headphones. He left a foot between them, unsure about where they stood in their blooming… _whatever_ -ship between them.

“Sorry you won’t get your money,” Neil said dryly, “I think you should find another way to buy a house in Chicago.”

Andrew rolled his eyes, “Your apartment has a second bedroom.”

Neil heard his heartbeat in his throat, “What will the press think when they see you coming out of my place?”

“What will the press think when I come out?”

“Ha-ha,” Neil laughed dryly.

Andrew twirled a headphone wire in his fingers, “You’d need more furniture anyways.”

“I don’t spend much time at home.”

“Then you’ll be a perfect roommate,” Andrew said nonchalantly, “and having more cats and an actual _cat tree_ will help The Professor with his boredom.”

“His name is Cat.”

“And I’m Charlie freaking Day,” Andrew let a small smile grace his face, “Ice cream?”

“I doubt the Moriyamas would be so kind as to drive me back to my place, so we’d have to cab it.”

“You’re paying.”

Neil pulled out his phone and called a cab. He told them to come around the back, and the cabbie was very shocked to see Neil and Andrew get to a second location that _wasn’t_ the middle of the woods. They slid out the back seat of the cab in front of an almost dead ice cream parlor.

Andrew found a corner booth in the corner, hiding from the press. The menus were sticky, but he didn’t care.

“What can I get you?” a bored waitress asked.

“Two deluxe chocolate caramel candied banana extravaganzas,” Andrew said completely seriously.

“Anything else?”

“No,” Andrew answered before Neil could order anything else. The waitress walked away, leaving Neil laughing at the ridiculousness of Andrew’s order.

“I know you let us win,” Neil said, unable to find another topic to talk about.

“I didn’t,” Andrew said, not making eye contact.

Neil “Andrew…”

“Neil,” Andrew matched his tone, “look, I will make more money, but I can’t buy your freedom.”

“You didn’t have to throw the game.”

“Who said I did?” Two giant ice cream sundae monstrosities landed on the table in front of them, along with two spoons. Andrew grabbed a spoon and dug into one of the sundaes.

“Thanks,” Neil said, to no one in particular. He took a spoon into his hand and started picking at the candied bananas lining the bowl. Neil was disgusted by the amount of sugar in the “healthiest” aspect of the sundae but slid his bowl to Andrew as soon as he finished his first bowl anyway.

When Andrew finally finished his second bowl of ice cream, threw a couple of bills on the table and left, Neil following closely behind him.

Once they were outside, they began walking down the very empty street, arms brushing against each other every now and again.

“We’re only a few blocks from my apartment if you want to see my Cat,” Neil offered, hope building in his chest.

“I actually have to go back to Seattle,” Andrew said, mildly disappointed. “I have to move out of my place.”

“Oh,” Neil crushed any hope that was living in his ribs, “Okay.” They fell back into a tense silence. “Andrew, I need to know,” Neil finally broke the silence, “where are we in… this?”

Andrew stopped in his tracks, shoulders tense, “I don’t know, Neil.”

“I feel like you’re giving me whiplash; you won’t look at me, but I fell asleep on you last night. You tense away whenever I come close, but you’re moving into my very small apartment. I don’t like _not_ knowing where we are.”

Andrew’s eyes softened, “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil breathed, “no question.”

Andrew grabbed Neil by the collars and pulled him in, teeth clacking together. Neil didn’t care. He felt Andrew’s lips against his, cold air whipping around his warm cheeks.

Andrew finally stepped back, face flushed, and panting. “I’ve missed you, moron.”

“Missed you too, jackass.”

They walked the rest of the way to Neil’s apartment, while Andrew filled him in on Renée’s work in Texas. Apparently, she runs a halfway house where she teaches at-risk “ _youths”_ how to be “productive members of a shit-filled society,” as Andrew put it.

They stopped outside of Neil’s apartment, falling back into a comfortable silence. “I’ll be back in a few days. Don’t die.”

Neil promised he would try his hardest not to. A cab rolled up almost immediately, waiting patiently on the curb. Neil pulled Andrew into a tight hug, letting his smell filling the air around him. Andrew pulled away and climbed into the cab, leaving Neil alone in an empty street.

He liked this. He liked hoping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww some closure on the will-they-won't-they
> 
> would be a shame if something were to suddenly..... happen


End file.
